A Certain Music

by Walters

  'See, the violins are here and here, the cellos and violas there; behind them are the flutes, the oboes, the clarinets and bassoons – over here are the trumpets and the horns, at the side are the double basses and at the back the kettle drums and all the other wonderful things that crash and bang and whoop ... ' A stab at the paper. 'At the front, on the podium with his baton in his hand is the conductor, Kapellmeister Umlauf. Kapellmeister Umlauf knows music –' A stab at his chest, ' – in here. And –' more sketching, 'I am on the stage also. Observe the trousers. They are black, my shoes also. The lace at my neck and at my wrists is the colour of coffee. Am I not splendid?'

  The child nodded.

  'From here the sound will rise to –'

  'The roof beams –'

  'Exactly.'

  'And to the left and to the right and behind also, are the singers. And the audience? They are here in row after row; also in boxes and in galleries that rise up and up and up. You will note that there is not one empty seat ... But wait! Who is this that sits one two three four rows back from the stage. Can you guess?'

  The child shook her head.

  'Someone small whose flaxen braids are falling free. She is wearing blue. Why blue? ... Because her eyes are blue ... Who can she be?' Still musing, the man moved to the sideboard, took something from a drawer and in the child's hand he placed two tickets. And though the markings on each were a mystery to her, the child knew their meaning.

  In the square the town hall clock tolled the hour. In the street a dog began to bark. But the child heard only the beat of her heart.

  The man had plucked his coat from the floor and was putting it on. 'You obviously don't want to hear my forty-six strings – observe my splendid trousers ... ' He stood before her. 'Nobody saw it, not Kapellmeister Umlauf, not even the great Haydn. Only you saw the moonlight. Only you ... ' Eyes locked into eyes. There were no words.

  Faster than the wind the child ran, her hands spread wide like a ship in full sail. Into the square, through the marketplace, dodging in and out of stalls, between carriages and carts, around hawkers selling fruit, up the street by the granary, faster and faster ... She flung open the door.

  'Look,' she gasped. 'For us!'

  Her mother sat at the kitchen table, a jug of something in her hands. A trickle of blood on her bodice writhed like a serpent when she moved. In her lap lay a rag.

  'There's forty-six strings and his trousers are black and it'll rise right to the roof beams – not then, at the end – and the colour is blue.'

  'Of what?'

  'The dress.' The child stopped. 'There's blood –'

  'Coughing, that's all ... '

  'In two weeks, in fourteen days, in 168 waking up hours ... '

  The woman studied the gold cards and set them down. 'Liebling, we can't –'

  'Can't what?'

  'It's impossible.'

  'It's a present, like at Christmas. Only better.'

  'It's not that –'The woman started to cough again. She propped her head on an arm. There was sweat on her skin. 'We have no clothes, no shoes ... '

  'Your best dress!'

  'At the Karntnerthor Theatre ladies wear silks and ribbons; their cloaks are of the finest cloth, they have shoes just for the evening ... '

  'That's not –'

  'Liebling, it's in Vienna!'

  'But –'

  The woman pulled herself up.

  'I will not be shamed –' She coughed, spat into the rag. 'I have lived with shame ... ' For all the coughing and the blood, the sentence will never be finished. Love protects. And love is here.

  'There's money now –'

  'We must be cautious.' The woman reached for her daughter, 'Liebling, I'm sorry –'

  'But I'll bring him luck. He said –'

  A hand pushed the tickets forward. 'Take them back. Present my compliments to your music man, thank him for his kindness, and say that, unfortunately, on that evening we have a prior engagement.'

  'Mutti, please –'

  'Do it now.'

  • • •

  Heavy-footed, the child moved along the streets, the tickets smouldering like live coals in her hand. Had she looked up she would have observed that here and there, things that grew in parks and in gardens were in bud.

  It was spring.

  Sixteen

  She lurched on. She heard her name called, heard those seductive sounds she knew so well. She kept her head down and measured her way in cobblestones.

  The man wasn't there. The door to the house in the Reinerstrasse was locked. She peered through the window – everything was as it had been ...

  What to do?

  The tickets would fit beneath the door but leaving them would be wrong. He would think, now not every seat will be filled. And his fear would grow ...

  There was only one thing to do. Wait.

  She sat on the step. She studied the cards in her hand, traced the shapes of words until they blurred and were lost to sight. With her knees clasped to her chest she rocked back and forth, and back and forth; and the rhythm was that of the song of joy ...

  Long she remained until the rooftops and the chimneys had locked out the sun. Then she started for home.

  Seventeen

  In the house by the granary a light was glowing and as she opened the door she heard a voice. That of Frau Schwarz.

  The child halted, considered the conifer, the berry bush, other places of concealment.

  'Is that you, Liebling?'

  'Yes, Mutti.'

  Frau Schwarz was large and loud. She listened at keyholes. Frau Schwarz knew what was going on. She was also kind, and broth and meat stew and sometimes an orange cake would appear on a doorstep. 'Such a load of nonsense,' was a favourite of Frau Schwarz.

  'Guten Tag Frau Schwarz.' The child turned to her mother. 'He wasn't there.'

  'Who wasn't there?'

  The woman was coughing again. 'No-one to speak of, Frau Schwarz.'

  Eyes switched from mother to daughter, 'What's going on, Child? You look unhappy.'

  'We were given tickets to a concert – show our guest, Liebling.'

  The guest reached for her spectacles. She read, she looked up. 'These are for the Karntnerthor Theatre!'

  'They were a gift.'

  'From whom?'

  'A friend. His new work is being performed.'

  'I know nothing of music –' began Frau Schwarz.

  'Nor I.'

  '– But I know the value of these ... '

  The woman stared down, squeezed tight the rag. 'We are not going,' she said.

  'Why ever not?'

  'We are otherwise engaged.' It was the child who spoke.

  'Such a load of nonsense!'

  'We could go,' her mother continued, 'but other things are more important.'

  Frau Schwarz peered at the speaker. 'Such a load of nonsense, it's just what you need. Put colour in your cheeks. Take your mind off "other things".'

  'We've given the tickets back and that's an end to it.'

  'They're here, on the table.' The speaker fixed her eyes on the child. 'What's going on?'

  The child dropped her head.

  'You want to go, don't you? I can see that you do. Answer me, Child.' Frau Schwarz leaned close, held the pause, 'But you have a problem. You need a dress. A beautiful gown of pink ... '

  'No, blue.'

  Nobody spoke.

  'At a certain factory there is a box,' Frau Schwarz began. 'In it are lengths of silk long enough for a dress – for two dresses ... '

  'Frau Schwarz, please –'

  'Herr Rohrmann, who dyes cloth, is a friend, Frau Praetz, the purveyor of ribbons, also, and were you aware that your neighbour has donated a bolt of her exquisite lace to the Guild – of which I am the president – for a "variety of purposes"?'

  'Frau Schwarz –'

  '–These are good people ... ' The voice dropped. 'Do it for the child –' The speaker eased back in her chair, she wiped her brow. 'Not going? Such a
load of nonsense!'

  'Mutti?'

  The woman sat at the table and held her tears.

  'Please ... '

  A head nodded.

  The child lunged, was lost in folds of flesh, 'Danke, Frau Schwarz, Danke, Danke, Danke ... '

  'Goodness, Child –' Frau Schwarz blushed rose colour and fumbled for her spectacles ... 'Such a load of nonsense! ... Now listen to me carefully. On Monday I shall go to the factory and you will accompany me ... '

  The women talked on ... To the child it was like the sounds the man made on the piano when one hand spoke to the other ...

  'Two weeks is short.'

  'We work at night.'

  'And who are "we"?'

  'Just you and me.'

  'Our boots –?'

  'Will be covered.'

  'Our hair?'

  'Will be curled.'

  'If I cough.'

  'There are lozenges.'

  'And how do we get there?'

  The rhythm changed. 'Child, run and fetch Mutti's sewing box.'

  'Why are you doing this, Frau Schwarz?' the woman asked.

  'I don't like things to beat me.'

  'That's not all, is it?'

  'No, that's not all ... ah, thank you, Child. Now to take measurements. Both of you – up!'

  Eighteen

  They got to the factory as a wave of women began to surge towards the gate.

  'Pardon me, ladies –'

  The women paused, turned to the speaker, a few edged closer.

  'A word if you please. I don't speak for myself but for this dear child –'

  They were listening.

  The voice set the scene. Went on. 'I know of the box and that in it is silk with small flaws, but enough for –'

  There was stirring. Women glanced at each other. Some moved off.

  'That's for cushions, lady.'

  'And linings.'

  More moved away.

  'Ladies, you haven't heard this simple request –'

  'If it's that simple, you do it!'

  'I'm sorry,' someone in a green kerchief mumbled. And hurried off.

  'Well!' exclaimed Frau Schwarz. She squared her shoulders, straightened her spectacles and turned to face the second wave of workers. 'Let's hope this lot are more amenable,' she muttered.

  The second wave simply pushed past.

  'I expect they're tired.' Frau Schwarz smiled. But behind the spectacles, eyes glinted.

  'These must be the last,' she announced as about forty women in twos and threes started to straggle out.

  'Pardon me, ladies –' Again she began, but this time all were 'sisters-in-arms'. 'Such an opportunity – one each of us would remember forever ... ' Frau Schwarz was struggling. 'All I ask – not for myself – is two lengths, flawed though they be and of little value ... ' A pause to dab at cheeks, lips. 'Who will be kind enough, generous enough to perform this simple task?'

  'Not me, lady.'

  'Nor me.'

  'Me neither.'

  'I will!'

  There was a hush. Eyes turned and followed the speaker as she pushed to the front. A small fair-haired woman stood before Frau Schwarz. 'I will,' she repeated. 'Advise me of the lengths and an address and I will see that they are delivered.'

  Bodies inched forward. There was shuffling, muttering ...

  'She's mad –'

  'She'll lose her place –'

  The woman spoke. 'My man was killed. I was despairing ... I was alone and without hope. Then a child showed me a kindness. It was a simple gesture but it gave me strength ... This is the child ... '

  • • •

  'Well!'

  They waited on a street corner.

  'Well, well!' uttered Frau Schwarz yet again and waved down a carriage. With a flick of a whip the horse clopped on.

  Frau Schwarz studied flaxen braids that fell across a bib. 'What is it, Child? Look at me.'

  The child raised her head.

  'It's that woman, isn't it? You're worried that she will lose her place in embroidery because of this. Such a load of nonsense! I assure you, she will not regret what she has done. She will always have her place. Always. I give you my word. You understand me?'

  The child nodded. She suddenly remembered a tale that had been told to them in class. It was of the good witch of Korneuburg, whose wondrous powers changed lives. 'The good witch,' her teacher had said, 'was a giant among mortals ...' The child studied Frau Schwarz in her largeness. And wondered.

  Nineteen

  The following week brought Frau Schwarz with her sewing box and a letter.

  Now, when lessons were over the child would reach for her satchel and run. But not in the direction of the Reinerstrasse. Others noticed, made questioning gestures, appointed this one and that to follow and report. But where once they had ridiculed the stumbling on cobblestones, now they saw sprinting and skipping. Even the mother whom she met was brighter in her step. And livelier too.

  The watchers kicked at stones. And said nothing.

  What they didn't know was that in the house by the granary, silk and lace and lengths of ribbon were being transformed into gowns of cream and blue that Cinderella herself might have worn to the ball ...

  At the kitchen table the child sat ready to pass pins, thread needles, trace patterns, and make coffee, while her mother and Frau Schwarz measured and cut and stitched and tucked. From time to time the woman would cough, spit into a rag and work on ...

  And the day passed and became the next day and with it came a letter.

  'From Papa.' The woman announced. She read, folded the pages and said nothing.

  'Is it Fritz?'

  'Who?'

  'The squirrel.'

  'No.'

  'What then?'

  'The rash. He had to report it.'

  'You said not to.'

  'He's been given a liniment to rub on.'

  The child loves her papa but she cannot focus on liniment and legs. She cannot think of anything but a man, and a sound, and a dress of blue silk ...

  Twenty

  Again it was Sunday. And in four more days (ninety-six hours minus three, to be precise) then ...

  She had waited on the step of the house in the Reinerstrasse for three days now but the door had remained locked.

  And again it was Sunday. And again the man was not there. And in the house by the granary a dress of blue silk floated like gossamer from its peg.

  The child wandered in silence and within herself. Oblivious to the colours and shapes that formed and reformed, kaleidoscope-like, as through the early morning she moved.

  At the edge of the town where the river runs she halted. She entered the Vienna Woods. How long it had been since she'd climbed into the tree, she couldn't measure, though the maples, the beeches, the oaks and the elms had turned a million shades of green. And, like paint when it's splashed upon a canvas, so wild flowers, snowdrops, cyclamens and lilies of the valley splashed the earth with their colour.

  And people in the colours of the flowers came. They strolled along paths, talking and laughing – and silently too.

  Huddled tight between new leaves the child dreamed. She dreamed of a castle as Rauhenstein was long ago, and of a princess with golden hair who had been held captive there and who wore a blue dress ...

  Then she saw him. The man was striding along a path, his head down, his hands behind his back. As he got to where the path swung towards the tree, she jumped. The man stopped. He opened his mouth as though to speak, but instead just shook his head and moved on. The child followed.

  Something had happened. Something terrible. It was in the eyes, the jutting lip ...

  The man strode, stopped, sat, strode again. He made no sound. The child clutched at her pinafore. The bib had been ripped as she'd jumped, though she'd heard nothing.

  Again he sat. This time he didn't move on. At his feet, snowdrops and wild violets grew. Long he stared as though he would paint them, then he raised his eyes. The child had seen the
same look in the eyes of her father. It was the look of fear ... She stood silent. Even with the conversation book and a scribe by her side, she wouldn't have been able to frame the words.

  She couldn't speak.

  He couldn't hear.

  She stood, silent among the snowdrops, and clutched her torn bib.

  Twenty-one

  The child stared into the night. A highwayman's moon cast its dappled light on rose bush and rooftop, on the outstretched arms of an apple tree in bloom. Dappled light on whitewashed walls formed and faded in markings that made music. If she could read them they would sing ...

  She curled onto her bed and pulled the coverlet up. Now she would pray. She'd seen it done. She closed her eyes, squeezed tight her hands and began ...

  'Please God, help him. He's frightened they'll laugh like they did before and no-one will come. And if you could hear it, you'd think it was so beautiful ... Please God, please make them come and not laugh ...

  'Auf Wiedersehen – and thank you for listening ... '

  Twenty-two

  'Mutti!'

  Two letters in one week! The woman frowned and slipped it into her bodice as the child entered.

  'Can we try our dress on?'

  'Our dress?'

  'Yours too. Pleeeeease?'

  The woman took the gowns from their pegs. She held hers to her body. Frau Schwarz was right, cream silk against primrose lace did make her cheeks glow.

  'You're beautiful,' said the child.

  'So are you, Liebling.'

  They giggled. They glided like swans. They waltzed across the floor. Princesses on stone ...

  'Mutti, you've dropped a letter.'

  'It's from Papa.'

  The child continued to waltz. 'Did you tell him?'

  'What?

  'About the dress?'

  'Papa is proud,' the woman answered. In her hand the paper was cold. Cold, and as bleak as the message it contained would most certainly be. She would read it but not speak of it.

  The child danced on. Everything would be all right. God was all seeing and all powerful. Her teacher said ...